


Dead In The Air

by anticentristpropaganda



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, LGBT, M/M, War, War AU, Welcome To Angstown Population these two idiots, tw slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24971419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anticentristpropaganda/pseuds/anticentristpropaganda
Summary: "Oh, fuck off, Valentin," sighed Pieter.His expression softened as he pulled my cards off the table, examining them."Vhatcha doin?" I chuckled lightly."Might need a souvenir. For after the war." he grinned, but not maliciously. I know he meant it. He tucked the cards into his pocket. A ten of diamonds, seven of clubs, and two of hearts.But neither of us are saying,what if this war sees no end?Tankie (Valentin) and Nazi (Pieter) are fighting the centrist threat day by day. But, war drags an individual through struggles not known. Through victory and hardship, they have to abandon their alliances and ideals to discover what it truly means to be human.
Relationships: authunity
Comments: 20
Kudos: 49





	1. Cards

**Author's Note:**

> WASSUP BITCHES!
> 
> Written from Tankie (Valentin's) point of view

The war was idle. The centrist threat was diminishing battle by battle, and my men were getting restless to see their families. So many days were spent like this, playing cards or some other worthless distraction. We either were mind-numbly bored, or infinitely suffering in a battle.

I played a game of 21 with the Nazi. We tiredly exchanged cards, anxiously awaiting the outcome of our round. I chewed on the cigarette dangling from my lips, allowing my thoughts to run.

Pieter tossed a card onto the pile. "Nice move, возлюбленный," I countered. 

"Once again, you call me in your filthy Slavic tongue. My name is Pieter," he emphasized with a small smile. 

I ignored his national pride. It is pesky, sure, but physically speaking I'm the "genetically superior" one of the two of us. I am, eh, fifteen centimeters taller than him, and stronger too. He knows I could kick in his ass if necessary.

"да, but zere are other Pieters out there. But, if it pleazes your ztupid ego, zen fine. I vill refer to you as such." 

I tended to get under his skin, but I did so purposefully. He was a young one, a bright-eyed recruit who had something no other solider I'd seen had: hope.

But some sick part of me entertained his short temper and compensated. Really, he was my only friend in the army. I couldn't possibly just let him go.

I flipped a card onto the deck, revealing I had won the match.

"Oh, fuck off, Valentin," sighed Pieter. 

His expression softened as he pulled my cards off the table, examining them.

"Vhatcha doin?" I chuckled lightly.

"Might need a souvenir. For after the war." he grinned, but not maliciously. I know he meant it. He tucked the cards into his pocket. A ten of diamonds, seven of clubs, and two of hearts.

But neither of us are saying,

what if this war sees no end?

We'll defeat the centrists, sure. I have little doubt in my mind about that, we've been winning battles handsomely. But that's with all four quadrants on our side, and the wacky reinforcements. 

After that, we'll battle each other. And the Nazis will win, or my people will. The AuthLefts, or as Pieter calls them, "filthy Slavs". 

But I couldn't help but smirk as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and handed it hastily over.

"I thought you communists didn't believe in the free market," he grumbled.

"I think it is more, eh, redistributing resources," I smiled.

"You're nothing but greedy," he growls, but I can tell he doesn't mean it. His voice is often empty, all bark no bite.

"I could, eh, send you to a lower rank if you don't do as I say," I grinned.

"Ah, yes. Whatever you say, Admiral." he rolled his eyes, exaggerating a fake bow.

Most of our interactions were like this. Pieter cursing me for little to no reason and me chuckling at my comrade's short temper. We often spent afternoons together like this, wasting the short time left in our lives away with petty games and teasing. 

That night was a restless one. We had a battle next morning, and I had a special mission. I called Pieter into my tent.

He dragged his feet as he walked in, but quickly straightened as he eyed my gun, a semi-automatic pistol. It belonged to my grandfather. He used it to kill people like Pieter many years ago.

He looked up at me in wonder. "What do you need the Tokarev for?" he asked, but he was onto me.

"For taking out General Lee himself." I said solemnly.

He paused, as if daring me to read his expression. 

"Just-"

"Just... vhat?" I teased.

"Just don't kill yourself doing it." he mumbled, as if ashamed of his worry.

I walked him over to the map we had of our battle plans. We were going to raid the centrist base, ultimately ending the war. Which is why this plan needed to be airtight. 

I grazed my index finger along the thin lines of pencil, showing him where he and I will go. 

"You will lead the men here, to ze front gates," I smiled. "And I will come in through the east entrance."

He was slouched in front of me, and I gestured to the map with my left hand. Almost like my arm was wrapped around his back. And I can't help but think that maybe this is the solution. To put my body between him and the bullets, and keep him safe. I could most likely take a few bullets, too. I was two-meter barrier made of muscle, blood, bone, and damnit, a heart. 

But if I hid him from the bombs and bullets, I'm not sure there would be safety for us to come back to.

I quickly dismissed him, anxious to sleep. But as he walked out the door, I stared a little longer than necessary, because if one of us died tomorrow I want as many memories of him as I can have.


	2. Blood comes from the heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the war is almost over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM SUCH A DUMBASS i originally forgot to revise some of my notes so if its fucked up please forgive me

I left before the sun rose. The only sounds were my shallow breath and the tread of my horse's hooves on the dusty trail.

I ran my fingers over the smooth pistol in my holster. I thought about life, and death, about Pieter.

I was almost certain I would make it out alive. At least, that was a recurring thought. Doesn't make it true. 

But I was certain many would die. And their blood would be on my hands.

Fort Overton wasn't impenetrable. It was heavily guarded by armed men at the entrance, where an iron drawbridge served as the barrier between their base and the outside world.

To their rear was a river, about 50 meters wide. Cannons lined the back of the base, but they were no match for our naval fleet. 

The last step was me.

To take out Moderate Lee. Their fearless general. Keep in mind, I am not a small man. I could not just sneak in easily, especially on horseback. But I have deadly accurate aim, and brute strength when weaponry fails me. Besides, the east gate where I would enter was the least guarded. I could take them on my own. 

Pieter would definitely take them on at the front gate, but I doubted he would take them on his own. His helmet was almost too big for his head. Yes, he was 24, but he looked strangely childish in his uniform. Light brown curls, spilling out of his crooked green helmet. And this skinny frame of his that didn't help his appearance, like his bones were going to outgrow his skin.

How is any of this relevant again? I thought. 

But my anxiety was an arsenal. Reminding me, 

He's just a kid. And he will die. You'll have to look down at him, and roses of blood will have bloomed from his chest. You will pretend not to care. But you cannot mourn him, especially in public. The skinny, bony-framed soldier that welcomed death with open arms in exchange for glory. You're weak. No one can know.

The base was finally in my line of sight. A white brick fort, guarded by at least 30 men to the north. 

Patience was the true key here. Before I got tired of this shit and take every guard down myself. Or died trying.

I was growing weary when I spotted him. Pieter with a goofy smile, leading thousands of soldiers across the field. 

His left arm was raised into a fist, and he was leading men across the field without hesitation. But he looked back at me, the last peaceful moment before all hell broke loose. And a feeling like fire spread inside of me. I was aching and hungry. For General Lee's blood, for a decent meal, for a day of rest that I would never get.

I was almost knocked off my horse at the speed we charged. He galloped with all his might until we reached the east entrance.

I cocked my pistol at two young guards, who shakily raised their shotguns in response.

"Drop ze guns." I commanded.

I fired a round into the air. 

They dropped the guns.

"Open ze gates." I said slowly, furrowing my brows.

One of them quickly reached for his gun, but I shot at the ground one inch from his foot. He paused.

"Vhat did I say?"

The other threw the key in my direction, then sped away in zigzag fashion. The same soldier who attempted to retrieve his gun tried to take the key, but before his hands clutched the key, I unflinchingly shot him between the eyes.

In our first battle, I would have wept for this man.

Halfway through the war, I would have thought of him all night.

But no good was going to come from me suffering, especially when it compromises our cause. 

I stripped the man of his uniform, a dusty blue. I removed my jacket and put on his, and in a way I reverted back to my old state. A young soldier who didn't think he was capable of anything, who's worst nightmare was killing someone. Putting on his uniform made me feel like he had joined me on my journey.

But that was only a flicker. I had a man to kill.

I nervously peered around the corner, looking into the massive Fort Overton.

It was a horrifying symphony. 

The constant stream of bullets kept an off-beat drum while the wailing of men sang, sang their hearts out. Limbs missing. Blood everywhere. It was a mess. 

I hated it, but my first thought was that we were winning, and quite handsomely.

Where, among the years, did I lose my sensitivity?

Just as my mouth hung open in shock, a young soldier pulled me on the arm, also in a light blue uniform. 

"Soldier!" he exclaimed. "I saw what happened back there, with that man on the horse. Are you okay?" 

"Uh... yeah. That man ran back to the trenches." I grinned. I hadn't fucked up the plan so far.

"Come, come," he urged me. Tugging on my arm, we ducked underneath the towering walls to reach the trenches. I peeked over the edges, already hoping to get an eyeful of the General himself. 

He pushed my head back into the trench. "Téméraire!" he whispered, voice urging. "Do you want to die?" 

I considered him. "No." But I sounded stupid.

"Then stay down." 

We hesitated for a moment. It was wonderful to be still amongst the chaos. Thin wood boards creaked beneath my weight, and my knees dug into the muddy wall. 

"Well?" he asked aggressively.

"Vhat?" I remarked, genuinely confused.

"Are you going to shoot?" He looked at me stupidly.

"Vell, I-" I could not answer him. But it was time for me to go.

"Name?" I hurriedly asked him.

"How the fuck is that relevant?" 

"Name." I urged.

"Gabriel." he said flatly.

"I'll remember you." I whispered.

I sprinted away, constantly ducking at the sound of bullets. One man even collapsed backward from the trench on account of the impact of a bullet, his life spilling out of him. My hands were stained dark red. 

I ducked behind a tent to catch my breath, when I spotted him: General Lee. Lean, but menacing, with a face permanently pulled into a scowl. He was surrounded by two higher-ranking officers, decorated with badges like ornaments on a Christmas tree. The only thing standing in between me and him was them.

I was now running on pure instinct. This wasn't a job that I should rely on a plan to complete. Too many possible loopholes. 

So I casually walked into his tent and dipped my head.

"Szir." I spoke quietly. I attempted to muffle my accent, but it at best sounded iffy. I doubted he would notice.

His two advisors stirred, eyeing me carefully. "And who are you?" asked the taller one, one eyebrow raised.

My heart skipped a beat. A name might've been useful. "Uhhh.. Gabriel." I panicked.

"What do you wish to see General Lee for?" 

"A word." I said shakily. "Privately."

They eyed each other suspiciously. I grazed the handle of my Tokarev, reassuring myself that all three of their deaths would be a viable, yet sloppier option. 

I took a risk by leaning down to General Lee's level, who had barely acknowledged me since I arrived. 

"Szir." Gentle. I had to be gentle. "These two men may have, erm, questionable motives." 

"How so?" he inquired, eyes hungry with curiosity.

"Spies." 

"Men, you are dismissed." he boomed. I closed the flaps of the tent as the men were ushered out, making a point to walk behind General Lee.

There is an odd moment looking down the barrel of a gun. Your life feels like a toy, and your job is to convince the holder of said gun that it isn't. Because when you think about it, we were all toddlers, throwing toys at each other. But things get more complicated when lines are drawn and toys are loaded with deadly intent.

I was surprised when I saw none of this in General Lee's eyes. It threw me off, but not enough to distract me. The barrel of my Tokarev grazed his forehead, as I hummed, "Say your prayers, Moderate."

He hated it when people called him by his first name. 

"You are not wise!" he laughed. 

"How zo?" I allowed my accent to lace through my words.

"Because you are wasting your time, allowing me final words and prayers. Do it. End me." he barks.

Everything was still by the time the casing hit the ground.

His bloodied forehead soaked onto the grass, reds and greens mixing. 

And when the life finally drained out of his eyes, everything was still.

I tucked my gun into the holster, unsure of what came next. I was sure that General Lee's right hand men had heard the gunshot and would be here any moment.

I strolled out of the tent, using a nonchalant approach to distract from my crime. But it was too late.

Two shadows formed a barrier around the tent, the Christmas-tree men.

"And just where do you think you're going, chienne ?" one of them chuckled. They held my shoulders firmly, but I still squirmed under their touch.

My eyes combed the camp for some excuse for an escape. Nothing.

"Gentlemen." I spat, slowing my jerking movements. Their hands suffocated my biceps, I was right where they wanted me. 

I was about to lose hope when the flag grazed the sky. A beautiful shade of white, like cream curled in the wind. Covered the sun.

The men unconsciously unhanded me.

Everyone stopped, taking a moment together to be of peace. For themselves, they are pondering if this meant slavery, death, misery.

But for me, it meant freedom.

I drunkenly ran over to the gates, laughing. I couldn't make it through fast enough.

I found my old uniform, discarded on the ground. I didn't care if it was dirty, it was mine and a symbol of freedom. The side to be on. I quickly threw the jacket on, to find thousands of soldiers waiting on the other side.

They were all smiling and laughing, patting each other on the back and enjoying each other's company. What a sight to see.

I made eye contact with many comrades, but I had one person I had to see. I called upon my horse for a better view, scouring the crowd.

Then I saw him, Pieter.

"возлюбленный!" I yelled. I called him by that name so much, he immediately turned his head.

"Valentin!" he laughed.

Bandages are wrapped around his left eye and his arms are wrapped around my torso and mine around his, running over his ribs checking for bruises or holes or anything that might disprove my fantasy that we will see the other side of this life.

"You're bleeding," I frowned.

"What's a little blood?" he chuckled. "I'll lose a lot more than an eye before I die." 

I pulled him up onto my horse, smiling. We were the first back to camp.

There was an odd moment of quiet when we got back. I wasn't used to seeing an empty campsite. I was hoping that we would get a moment together before tension between quadrants strengthened.

"Valentin, can I ask you an honest question?" he asked quizzically.

"Vhat?" 

"What does возлюбленный mean?" 

I looked at his eyes, full of fire. He was so curious. And I didn't want to break his heart, or mine, but he had to know.

"Beloved." I paused.

And he kissed me.

I never knew him as affectionate, but fuck this felt good. He tasted like alcohol, likely because of the cold, metallic flask I could feel in his chest pocket.

It became a laughing matter, but I can't pinpoint why. It was funny that we were drafted, that we fought in the war, that we killed, that we would kill again. All for a kiss.

But he still looked happy. His cheeks were buzzing with warmth, blood circulating in his vessels from our quickened heart rate. It was not just his, it was ours.

He pulled away, fiddling with the collar of my shirt. "Beloved."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so languages: valentin is russian and speaks it, pieter is german but speaks many languages, and the centrists are from switzerland and speak french


	3. two russian lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> pieter's gotta learn some russian shit to not die

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: frequent mentions of nazism

The sun moved slowly across the sky, in a hazy mid-afternoon dreamlike state. Now that the summer months were approaching, it got brighter and hotter earlier in the morning. 

A beautiful, white flag hung from a flagpole nearby. The one we captured from the centrists was a symbol of our victory. Pieter and I were sharing breakfast nearby it when I noticed something strange. 

"любимый, did you see zhat?" I questioned, eyebrows furrowed. 

"Nein," he absentmindedly declined. 

"Two Panzerwagens just rolled by," I said, concern trembling in my voice. 

Panzerwagens were armored vehicles driven by the Nazis. Now that all that had to conclude the war with the centrists was the negotiation of the terms of surrender, certain quadrants were beginning to boast their military efforts in an attempt to start a revolution. 

Pieter squirmed in his seat, and I took notice.

"Vhat is wrong?" 

"Nothing," he dismissed. I wouldn't push it, anyways. 

I didn't know what to tell him. How I felt for him, like every time he jerked his head I swore mine would move. That when his heart beat, so would mine. That when he feels, I would feel as he did. Such talk was petty, especially considering he didn't ask. But I was already visualizing the conversation we would have.

_"Pieter, how do you feel for me?" I would ask._

_He would lay his head in the crook of my neck, whispering, "als würde mein Herz explodieren, like my heart will explode."_

_I would run my hands through his soft hair-_

That's fucking enough. We only shared one kiss. Fantasy was pointless, especially considering the end of our time together was near. He would join the Nazis, me the communists, and we would kill eachother, finally stilling our joint hearbeat. 

Such thoughts were horrible, but darkly true. 

General Guevara approached me. 

"Zir." I stood at attention. 

"You have mail," he said absentmindedly, throwing a letter in my direction, doing the same with Pieter. 

It read nothing interesting, just a quick note from General explaining our subdivision into quadrants after the terms of surrender were negotiated. We all expected it. As much as I longed for a shower and clean bed, I understood I had to make sacrifices to make a better world. Pieter, however, looked like he was about to puke. 

"Pieter, are you okay?" I whispered. 

He paused, picking at his fingernails. He did that often when he was nervous. "It-" he paused. "It is difficult for a man to mourn himself." he finished solemnly. 

"Vhat are you talking about?"

"Don't you understand? No matter who wins among the quadrants, I'm going to be killed, or worse. Garantiert." 

"But your team, ze Nazis, have fair shot at vinning," I suggested. 

"I'll die if they win too. Valentin, they kill people like me. Like us. And it's hardly a secret anymore, anyvays." His German accent slipped through his voice when nervous. I could see his left hand shaking. 

I glanced around, shocked. At least five soldiers were staring at us, smirking. 

"How do you fink zey know? Did you tell?" I asked aggressively. 

"Of course not!" he spoke a bit too loudly. "Perhaps we..." he trailed off, thinking. 

"Maybe they knew about us before we did," I whispered with a small smile. I could've sworn I saw a blush creep up his cheeks. 

"I-" I paused. It absolutely terrified me, this realization. What if I did everything I could to keep him alive during the war, just to lose him in the next? After I fall in love with him? 

I was falling in love with him... 

"I have an idea. But it iz risky." I leaned in closer. 

"Fight with me."

He stared at me blankly. 

"I vill hide you, keep you safe. And if we vin, I'll make sure you stay that vay. I swear on my life, Pieter." 

His mouth fell slightly open, then pulled into a small smile. 

"In Ordnung. Okay." 

I slapped him on the back. "Now that you are a comrade, I vill need to teach you my vays!" I laughed. "Tonight. Come to my tent." 

It was a beautiful night. Lazy pink strokes were thinning under the quickly approaching nightfall. Pieter stumbled into my tent, looking anxious. 

"да, hello," I smiled, absentmindedly tapping ashes into an ashtray. He sat across from me, back resting against my deeply green trunk. 

"I hear you are going to turn me Slav," he chuckled. 

"Zuch is true, comrade." I exhaled, blowing a cloud of smoke into the air. "And if you don't vant to be hung for spying, I zuggest you follow my advice." 

I poured him a shot of vodka and slid it across my makeshift table. "Here, is drink from potato. Mother Russia made this for you and I to drink." 

He quickly downed the shot, making a bit of a face. "Tastes like pinkeln. Piss," he muttered, shaking his head. 

"I'm impressed by your tolerance, кролик." I shrugged. "But now we must have more." 

He was about to protest, but resigned. "If you want to have a drinking contest, such is fine. But perhaps, teach me what I can retain before I get completely pissed?" 

"Ладно, okay." I smiled. I pulled off my jacket, wearing just a wife-beater and suspenders underneath. 

"Here, try this on," I said breathily, smiling. 

He pulled his old coat over his head, tossing it aside. 

"I guess I can vish that coat Auf Wiedersehen," he spoke softly, voice full of nostalgia. 

He carefully pulled on my coat, respectfully examining every seam as to not harm it. I smoothed out the fabric on his shoulders, hands grazing the intruding tips of his collarbones. 

"You..." I stopped. "You look very handsome, любовник." 

He showed me a toothy grin, cheeks straining. "Ah, I'm afraid you've already beat me at that, liebhaber," he spoke softly, stroking my cheek. He gently wrapped his arms around my shoulders, making a point to poke me in the bicep. 

I wanted so desperately for him to be safe. Right then in my arms he was, absolutely and totally. I knew I had little control over if he died in battle, but I looked in his eyes and knew that was not the issue. He wasn't safe from himself. Hatred burned in his irises, formulating in deep shades of warm green. He clutched so desperately to his former framework, not because he believed it, but out of fear and shame. He felt sort of limp in my arms, like he didn't think he should be here. But he didn't need to worry about the Nazis anymore, anyways. I'd kill them all singlehandedly if that's what it took for him to let go. But the shame still permeated in his eyes. I had grappled with this too, believe me. But I did not fear death like he did. 

"Hey, you okay?" I whispered into his pink-tipped ear. 

He caught onto my sense. "I will be." He paused. "Besides, I always thought I would look better wearing a Soviet badge than a pink triangle." 

We stood in silence for a moment, listening to our thoughts and the sound of one another breathing. No, the sound of us breathing. One pair of lungs. 

"Vould you like to learn some Russian?" I grinned. 

"да," he whispered. 

"Hey, you are already catching on!" I chuckled.

"Here, try zhis. Привет." 

"Pree-vet," he said slowly, slightly butchering the word. I didn't care, though.

"Хорошо!" I cheered. 

"What does that mean?" he asked curiously. 

"Good." 

"Korosho?" 

"да, excellent! You are becoming русский юноша right before my eyes. A Russian man," I beamed, pride ringing in my voice.

We both hesitated for a moment. Our heart beat quickly, panging with nerves. 

"Vhat's wrong, Pieter?" I whispered. 

"They're coming for me tomorrow," he said shakily. "Ze Nazis." 

"I von't let them take you, возлюбленный," I assured him. "You are one of us now." 

"Can I stay here, then?" he pleaded with puppy dog eyes.

How could I say no? 

"да, of course." 

I passed him another shot, propping him up against my shoulder. "Here, vill help you sleep faster." 

He sat down, back leaning against my trunk and head on my shoulder. "gute nacht, liebhaber," he whispered. "Good night, love." 

The moon and his sons were watching us, and I silently prayed up to him. That every star, comet, and asteroid would protect us from harm, to never still our beating heart.


	4. joined at the hip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CAN WE PRETEND AIRPLANES IN THE NIGHT SKY ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS???? I COULD REALLY USE A WISH RIGHT NOW, WISH RIGHT NOW, WISH RIGHT NOW
> 
> also tw: mentions of torture and death
> 
> okay so serious time time to put on my serious pants uhhhh pieter was a little bitch and left even though he said he wouldn't. valentin is like BRO. but everyone in the nazi team knows pieter is a homo anyway so pieters like uhh bro can you not kill me??? thx

I stirred gently from sleep, shafts of light pouring in through the gaps in the thick canvas walls. I stretched deeply, thrusting my arms over my head and taking deep breaths. I thought that my movement would stir Pieter, but I didn't hear or see anything. I looked from side to side, but in his place was a small note he had left behind. 

_Valentin_ , it read, _I decided to leave with the Nazis. You must understand that I've done this to quell my suffering, not to enhance yours. My departure is final, for truly I needed to escape myself, and I truly exist inseparable from you. Maybe, if I try hard enough, I'll kill my love for you and I won't be burdened by the chains of shame. But for now, as much as it pains me, я люблю тебя как жизнь сама (See? I learned Russian for you, dear)._

_Respectfully,_

_Pieter_

My eyes tripped over the words, jamming them together like pieces of a puzzle that never belonged together. I was never supposed to read them. I ran over the phrase "я люблю тебя как жизнь сама" over and over again, squeezing as much happiness out of them as I could before I turned the once-pure phrase into a bloody mess. "I love you as life itself." Over, over, over again...

**Pieter**

I sat in a crowded truck, which ambled down the street, focusing on clearing my mind. Sure, I still loved Valentin, but I was a remarkable actor. Perhaps I would win an Oscar for my next performance, "Idiot convinces himself (and hopefully everyone else) he's straight."

You must understand why I left, dear Reader. I hoped that everything would be okay, that Valentin would die saving an orphanage or some shit and I wouldn't have to worry about how he made me feel anymore. He would be the hero, but I would get the best of this exchange. I wasn't uncomfortable being a villain.

The truck pulled into a dusty lot where other SS soldiers tiredly stumbled out of the truck. It was only nine, and we had already done hours of various exercises and training.

I quickly found an empty table in the lot, making no attempt to socialize. I wasn't here to make friends. But something about the way the boots of soldiers stirred dirt on the ground, the way they chatted boredly, stirred a deep itch inside me that I couldn't scratch. Valentin.

I remembered when we would laugh together, giving ourselves cigarette burns, drinking, playing cards, whatever soothed our unsettled minds. The way he would sense that I was uncomfortable, he would squeeze my hand under the table and remind me that I wasn't just a degenerate who should off himself, preferably via cliff or noose. Whatever got rid of my body faster. And then it hit me, like the truck I came here in, that I wasn't going to just kill off the Valentin that dwelled in my conscience. At least, not in a way that was meaningful or helpful. I could sure as hell fake it.

Maybe I could've just killed him in person. Probably more effective results.

Nah, that was a stupid idea.

There I sat, a portrait of the artist as a young man who lost it all. His love, most likely his life, and not to mention his dignity. That was gone when I kissed him. And it was a feeling I cannot describe, like he knew something I didn't and I needed to shut him up. To make him stop worrying about me, that I was more than the starry-eyed boy who ran away to the military to try to clutch some sense of pride. That maybe if I did something courageous, that my existence would be worthwhile outside of my degeneracy. But now, my life seemed to get less and less worthwhile without Valentin around. 

**Valentin**

My first thoughts were those of Pieter's safety. Someone would surely give him a black eye, or perhaps an aggressive scolding, or he could even die.

He probably would die.

But I had to pay it no mind.

The only way our heart would keep beating was if I figured out some way to take him back. Can you imagine that? One stupid, lovestruck Russian against the entire Nazi Party. I'd kick their Nazi asses in, however. I just needed a way in.

I poured out some vodka to console myself. I am ballsy and quick-witted when drunk, perhaps I could've come up with a solution.

I drank until I could feel my brain slipping through my fingers. My eyes wandered around the room, searching for comfort. I picked up Pieter's old jacket and held it to my chest, taking in his smell. Like cedar, sort of smoldery and with a sour kick of gin.

"That's it," I thought aloud. I'd get to Pieter just as I did General Lee. In uniform.

**Pieter**

That night, I wandered over to a large field of grass to examine the stars. Millions of pinpricks in the sky, shining. It was dazzling. I was interrupted by a man who sat on the bus beside me earlier, who's nametag read "Schmidt". He was on the shorter side, but loaded with muscle. He was angry, and spoke in short barks like those of a small dog.

"Müller." he called, voice commanding. That meant me.

"Yeah?" I asked, voice nervous and high-pitched.

He took a seat beside me, pulling a flask out of his coat pocket.

"Whiskey?" he offered, extending the flask to me. I took a long sip, swishing it a bit in my mouth. 

"I'm glad you decided to join us, landsmann," he smiled. "I didn't think you would."

"Have I not been loyal to our cause?"

"Well, I know about you and that faggot Valentin."

I choked on the whiskey, spitting it out in front of me. I stayed silent for a moment, attempting to form a sentence. 

"I-I would never-"

"Don't start." he said in a low voice. "Don't deny."

I hung my head, hoping to steer this conversation back to my control. "You're not gonna say anything, are you?" I asked nervously.

"No, I have always considered you a compatriot, Müller." He took a deep breath. "But you understand you have no place in our society once we win, correct?"

I stared at him, puzzled.

"We have no room for degeneracy in Aryan society. It's truly nothing personal." 

My throat felt raspy, like my lungs were filling with dirt and ash. I felt a wave of guilt overcome me, finally settling into sickness in my stomach. I would die just like all the people I was told to hate. Maybe I'd be gassed, and feel the poison fill up my lungs and watch all of the folk around me struggle to keep their airways shut. Maybe I'd be a human experiment, mutilated until my brain could no longer think. Valentin would see my body laying in a ditch and feel nothing because I was the one who left him behind. I wasn't even good to him when we still had a chance. Fuck, now I was crying in front of the dog who had barked words of death. I turned my face away from him, concealing my guilt. 

"Yeah, I understand." 


	5. partners in crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hello everyone, welcome to the Homoerotic Fight Scene chapter

Pieter  
Hard and unforgiving, my bed seemingly pushed against my back, causing me to toss and turn. I pulled a small pocket watch from underneath my bed and read the time: 3:30 am.

"Jesus fuck," I muttered, immediately clamping my hand over my mouth. The barracks were small, I must have woken the three other soldiers in my clump. I glanced over at their drooping faces, trying to determine their consciousness, but it seemed that they were sleeping despite my loud fucking mouth.

Where were we? Bed was uncomfortable? I couldn't sleep? I was a huge fucking idiot? Oh yeah, we were getting to the 'huge fucking idiot' part. 

Cause it was true. I was a huge fucking idiot. 

My stomach felt twisted and sick from all of my anxiety, surrounding my confrontation with Schmidt that evening. Well, yesterday evening technically. I knew I was a dead man before, but Jesus Fucking Christ was I one now. I should've just written my shitty obituary then. 

To whom it may concern,  
Valentin can get all my shit so that I at least don't have to die pretending I'm not a faggot. That makes sense, right? Let's see, what do I own: A pocket watch and a shitty pair of boots that had two holes in the soles? Yeah, sounded about right. 

Let's see, what else did I own? I thought. I glanced around my bed, looking for other things in my possession. I smiled at the feeling of the outline of three playing cards, hidden poorly beneath my sheets. My cheeks warmed at the memory of Valentin, tracing his shape onto the card with the light touch of my thumb.

I held out one of the cards, a two of hearts. I held it to my own, feeling it beat in a small and muffled way. Two of hearts, for me and Valentin. And it was all my fault they were now abruptly ripped from each other, in a depressing sort of schism. 

I idly blinked at the card, every moment of it in my touch beginning to fill me with tremendous guilt. I quickly tucked it under my bedsheets again, almost hoping I would never find it again. That I could just forget, would be a truly great blessing.

Valentin  
My mouth felt dry as I dragged my feet across the dusty path, loosely following the tire tracks of the Panzerwagen that Pieter left in that morning. The forest the Nazi camp was in had sparse shade with blankets of sunlight falling onto me, leaving my forehead dripping and my shirt soaked. A small creek babbled next to me, as if leading me to Pieter.

I didn't remember it being this far. We drove past the camp months ago, and it couldn't have been more than a mile away. Whatever, I thought. I'll find it.

As if on cue, I spotted a tent out of the corner of my eye. I ducked behind a tree to attempt to better surveil the area, and check for blind spots on my way in. This was a project that would require closer thinking than my extermination of Lee.

Large, rectangular canvas tents sat in rows, and there were 12 of them total. Men bustled around the campsite, occasionally dropping at a "Hochdrücken! Push ups!" barked by an official.

I pushed my back against a soft bush, peeking over the edge to catch a glimpse of the bunkers. Would I find Pieter anywhere?

Pieter  
I felt dazed as I ran back and forth across a green field. My mind was exhausted between the anxiety and the exercises, and God I needed a break. But there was no sympathy to be found here.

I lagged for a second before hearing the screech of a whistle loudly in my ear. 

"Müller!" the voice of a superior yelled, pulling in my attention like a magnet.

I miserably turned my head, to be greeted with the sight of a short yet muscular man yelling in my face. "What is the meaning of your lacking? Fauler arsch! Lazy ass!" he spat, eyebrows furrowed. All I managed to get out was a mumbly "Sorry." 

Valentin  
Nightfall was now approaching, and the soldiers were asleep in their tents. I seized this opportunity to move closer to the camp, only catching a glimpse of the walls when searchlights grazed the walls of the tent. 

Then I saw him, just for a moment.

Tight brown curls, spilling over the edge of a bed, tugged on angrily by veiny hands.

Pieter, he could never get rest even in sleep.

I could see him through a hole in the tent, chewed through possibly by a mouse. 

I quickly formulated a plan. 

I gathered a small pebble from the dusty ground and threw it at his head. I was quite the marksman, I could aim well. 

Once I saw his head stir, I tossed more rocks to form a path leading to a cabin on the far edge of camp where we could confer. 

I sprinted quietly, dodging beams of light to slip inside of the cabin. I waited for perhaps five minutes before Pieter arrived. 

Pieter  
I angrily backed him into the wall opposite the door, putting intense pressure on my forearm which was pressed into his neck.  
"You weren't supposed to come for me!" I snapped.

Kill him.

Kill him.

Kill him.

My thoughts rang out. I could put myself out of my misery once and for fucking all,   
and forget he ever existed. 

Ki-

I kissed him instead. Oh yeah, I remembered. That's why I'm keeping him alive.

I released the pressure on his neck, taking a step back and allowing him to explain himself. 

"Pieter," he begged, catching his breath in gasps. "Please, come with me. I know what's best for you." His hands reached out to me, almost touching mine. I went against every instinct I had to touch him and pulled back.

"You know what's best for me? Have you considered that getting off on a degenerate like you kills me?" My voice was cracking, as was the conviction in my tone, but I continued. "I really did miss you more than anything in the world, but the longer you stay here, the more I'm convinced you have no fucking idea what's best for me."

His eyes pierced a deeper shade of brown, mixing with reds from his temper quickly reeling. He threw his hand behind him, pointing to a faded swastika on the wall. "You think this is what's best for you, Pieter?" He shook his head, not giving up his stance but more his confidence that I would listen. "These people kill us. You're not one of them. I know you're not." Then, it sounded like he was trying harder to convince himself than me.

"I may not be one of them," I said somberly, "but what are my options? Try to escape and die?"

"Pieter, they're going to kill you if you stay!" he exclaimed, eyes watering. He held my shoulders, shaking me a bit to get his point across. 

"Then let them fucking kill me," I growled unflinchingly. 

"I'm not going to let them," he said softly, pulling my collar up to his level. He leaned in to kiss me, obliterating any space between us pushing his hands deep into my cheekbones. I backed into the door, pulling him with me. His hands touched my neck, my waist and my back like vices, as if attempting to stop me from leaving again.

I won't leave again, I thought. I can't. 

I couldn't focus on anything but him. God, I felt on fire. My cheeks, my lungs, my mouth, my mind, all buzzing with a fiery heat that invaded my consciousness, leaving no other room for thoughts, much less logic.

I didn't stop him when he undid the buttons on my shirt. The feeling of his fingers brushing my skin was unbearable, throwing me into the depths of pressure and pleasure. I snapped open the clasps on his collar which sending one flying across the room.

"Fuck, you're eager," he smiled against my lips, shallow and hot breaths invading my airways. 

My arms froze from the fastenings of his shirt when I heard three short raps on the door. Valentin looked me directly in the eyes, trying to decide how to respond.

"Vell, we definitely have to leave now," he whispered, half jokingly. He suspiciously eyed a window with one eyebrow raised.   
"Looks like we've found our exit." 

He expertly fiddled with the lock until the window creaked open. He went headfirst out, looking a bit silly in the process.

I looked unsurely at him, but followed suit. 

He giggled, taking my hand as we sprinted away with a manic look in his eyes.


	6. like the fuckin woods man idk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just read the chapter assfart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys short update idk

Pieter

Where had life even gone?

Valentin's skin hung off his cheeks like rags. Starvation ate away at my stomach. Weeks ago, we clung to each other for comfort. Lately we didn't do so much of that anymore...

The last thing I ate was the inner bark of a pine tree, which is what we were surviving off of. Abandoned in the forest and trying to find a place to call home when we fled ours. 

He's sitting across from me on a fallen tree, scratching his skull and letting his fingertips run across the dusty earth. The urge to hold him once again floods my mind but again I shove it down. He will surely push away, right?

A shaky "V-Valentin," escapes my lips. 

"Hmm." The sound resonates in his throat, both in acknowledgement and skepticism.

My mind was completely blank. What was I supposed to say? I love you? I miss touching you? If I eat one more piece of pine bark I'm going to vomit?

"Should I hike around a bit and look for food?" 

He frowns. "There's no point if we're going to fucking die."

Die. Die. Die. Exactly the word I didn't want to hear. I was so, so young and so, so, tantalized by the possibility of a better world that I pushed away the feeling of absolute resentment for the life I led then. For myself, for being a faggot, for being starving in the woods because I ran away from the only family I had ever known...

Is that enough reasons for you?

Nothing about my identity could I tether down. Political, sexual, personality, all of it I felt a fucking disgrace. But how could something so wrong feel so beautiful? "Valentin, we're not going to die."

He glared at me, racing to his feet. "People die all the goddamn time, idiot. I vatch them die, and I vatch again-"

"And I won't sit here and watch you die!"

He bowed his head. "Pieter, you don't understand-"

"Did you forget I served too? You're not fucking special. I lost my goddamn eye! What did you lose, you selfish asshole?"

His shoulders sunk in a twisted manner. "I almost lost you."

"Without the fucking war, I wouldn't of met you. So kind of a gain on your part."

The air was thick with silence. Valentin stared guiltily at a tree nearby to avoid the desperate conversation we were having. 

"I-" I squatted in front of the tree he was sitting in, trying to see into his cold eyes.

"You're a real fucking idiot, Valentin. You saved me so I wouldn't die, and- and I love you, and we have to go-" 

"You love me?" 

My face flushed all over. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit. 

"I- I m-mean... y-yeah."

"Okay. We can go." he smiled tiredly.

"But... where?"

"Look for a creek."

The shuffle of my legs feels the worst it has ever been. The soreness of doing drills at the barks of a general feels like a distant memory. But he keeps me going, in light of some sort of hope. I don't know what the future holds. It'll probably suck ass. But I'm here with Valentin, and that's enough.


End file.
